I’m a woman of a certain age. I’ve been happily partnered for the best part of 20 years. And we don’t have children. If you believe in the biological clock you must be having trouble thinking over the noise of the alarm on mine going off. It doesn’t bother me. The only time I really hear it is when one of my child-ridden friends reminds me of it, either directly or by asking if/when I plan to have children.
You don’t like child-ridden? Well I don’t like childless, barren, selfish, egoistic, pitiful and somehow defective. So let’s call it even.
In the last couple of years I’ve reached the age where it is probably too late to do much about it, should I suddenly awake to the persistent ringing. These days questions from my child-ridden friends seem to focus less on if or when I’ll have children, and more on what I’ll do when the inevitable sense of regret for this missed opportunity descends.
What they fail to realise is that I already regret not having children. In much the same way as I regret not having become an Olympic swimmer (wasn’t fast enough and hated early mornings more than I loved the pool). I regret not having been a foreign correspondent, putting my life on the line to report the truth from dangerous and exciting places around the world (didn’t get into journalism and never wanted to live anywhere but Australia). And I regret not having been a world famous musician and singer (don’t have that great a voice and didn’t want to spend all my spare time practicing the guitar, or keyboard, or whatever).
I regret not having children because some things about it look really cool. Like I’d love to introduce my kids to the pleasures of reading. I think I’d enjoy many aspects of watching their own personalities emerge and grow. And I’m certain I’d enjoy having adult children to spend time with as I get older. But, just like these other things I haven’t done in my life, I’m clear about the reasons I haven’t had children and I’m comfortable with my decision. Am I happier as I am than I would have been as a parent? No one will ever be able to say.
The point is that regret and contentment are not mutually exclusive emotions, although they are often painted as such. As time goes by this becomes clearer to me. Ironically I am reminded most of the potential for regret and contentment to exist simultaneously in conversation with my child-ridden friends. When I talk about my life – about studying, reading, travelling, visiting the theatre and galleries, date nights with my man and sleeping in on the weekends – the most common response from the child-ridden is good natured envy. Recently I caught up with a friend I hadn’t seen for years. When I revealed my child-free status she commented ‘You always were the smart one.’ Do I think these people regret some of the changes which have come into their lives with their children? You bet. Do I think they are mainly content with their decision to become parents? You bet. Regret and contentment living side-by-side in a world where we act for many simple and complex reasons.
I recently read about Orna Donath, an Israeli sociologist who published a study based on interviews with 23 mothers who regret having children. The article was about the taboo that still remains for mothers admitting they regret their choice to become parents. I was struck by the fact that, just as society is skeptical and suspicious of mothers who say that they regret having children, it is also skeptical and suspicious of women who say they don’t regret remaining child-free.
Donath aims to allow mothers to live motherhood as a subjective experience, one that can combine love and regret, and one that will be accepted by society, no matter how it looks. I want the same thing for child-free women.
Ironically it turns out all women do want the same thing. It’s just that thing is not children.
